


Deception

by Tsianphiel



Category: The Order 1886
Genre: Angst, Conspiracy, F/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsianphiel/pseuds/Tsianphiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grayson is sent out on a mission, Isabeau in tow. The mission is part of Isabeau's induction into the Order, but things are not what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is usually written in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. I have no idea where this is going, but The Order has such a compelling story and characters that I had to do something with it. I also want to explore the relationship between Isabeau and Grayson a bit more than the game. I don't own The Order 1886. I just want to find out more about these people.

Reports of the halfbreed infestation reached Westminster late in the afternoon. The Lord Chancellor was reluctant to send a full complement, since the suspected lair was thought to be both fairly small, maybe one or two lycans at the most, and very isolated in the old factory building at the outskirts of the borough. Or so the reports said.

In retrospect, Sir Galahad should probably have questioned the source to a greater extent than he did, but his mind was on other things, the curious strain in his relationship with Isabeau being only one of them. From previously having had a carefree connection to the young woman, he was now feeling uneasy and constrained in her presence, and he could not explain why.

And so, when the Lord Chancellor asked Galahad to bring his charge with him out in the field to encounter lycans for the first time in an uncontrolled setting, Galahad found himself agreeing to the proposition. His misgivings could easily be a reflection of the strangeness he felt towards Isabeau, and so he didn't listen to his gut instinct that told him something else was afoot.

As the small team consisting of himself and Isabeau prepared for an expedition to the outer boroughs, Isabeau chattered on as usual, occasionally ribbing him for his choice of weapons or a piece of armor. When he stuck a slim blade in the outside of his boot, Isabeau had apparently had enough. "Really, Gray," she said with that familiar tone that had started to bother him in some strange, undefined way, "what are you going to do with that thing? Poke the halfbreeds to death? They'll die of boredom long before you'll manage to kill anything with that. You need a wide blade to ruin their heart muscle efficiently." 

Perhaps it was the slight absurdity of having his own words repeated back to him that made him say it. Perhaps it was the mischievous glint in Isi's eyes. "I thought I taught you it's not the size of the blade that matters, but how you use it." To Galahad's satisfaction, two bright spots of red appeared on her cheeks. But of course he should have known it wouldn't deter her. "Well, in that case you'll have nothing to worry about, will you?"

Galahad chose not to answer her. It would only lead to places he felt should not be explored with a woman not yet inducted to the brotherhood, and in addition to that a couple of hundred years his junior. "Let's just get ready, shall we love? It might only be a small lair, but this is your first outing. I wouldn't want you to be distracted." Isabeau pouted at that, and Galahad snickered at her expression. "Come on love. Put your hair up and tighten your armor. It's time to kill some halfbreeds."

Another twinge of uneasiness struck Galahad as he loaded the weapons in the carriage. "Where's Dougherty?" The pale, young man at the drivers seat played with the horse's leads. "I'm sorry sir, Dougherty is sick sir. I'm to be his replacement while he recuperates, sir." Galahad gave the young man a sideways glance while securing the M2 Falchions. "You ever been out before lad? What's your name?" Twitching in his seat the young man stammered. "No, sir, this is my first time sir. My name is Jonathan. Jonathan Strong." "Well, Jonathan Strong, this should be an easy outing. Just remember to wait for us, but be ready for any sign of trouble. If there are halfbreeds, I want you to leave, as fast as possible." Footsteps behind him signaled Isabeau's arrival. "Yes", she said. "Get the hell out of there and sacrifice the horse if you have to. Lycans are fast and strong. Better they eat the horse than you." Galahad shot her a warning glance. The young man paled even further. "Great", he said. "We're off to a brilliant start." Shaking his head, he gave Isabeau a hand up in the carriage, and with one final glance back at Westminister, they were off. The uneasy feeling in Galahad's stomach getting worse for every mile stretching out between the knight and his home.


	2. Entering the lair

As they arrived at the factory, Isabeau was quick to gather the rifles from the back of the carriage. Grayson did a final check, secured his knife and handgun and accepted the rifle as Isabeau handed it to him. Fully loaded, extra ammo in his ammunition belt, a shoulder bag with water and bullets for the revolver in the bag. He did a last minute switch, placing the grenades in the bag rather than his pockets and put the first aid kit in his coat.  
"Are you expecting to get hurt, old man?" Isabeau was watching as she readier her own weapons.  
"No love, the bandages are..." He hesitated, not wanting to seem distrustful of her skills or experience. Isabeau was a damned good fighter. One of the best he'd taught. "Call it a precaution. I have a bad feeling about this, but..."  
"Oh, come on Gray. The lair is supposed to be the smallest established in this area. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Now let's get going, so I can return to my books."  
"Even books lose their charms after a few centuries", he muttered under his breath. "I'd be more concerned about knife play, if I were you."  
"I heard that, Gray. Don't think for a second that I'll let you get away with another victory in the ring."

Isabeau's haughty expression and unending bravado, he knew, was a result of having to fight her way through every decision, every training session, every combat scenario they threw at her. The lord chancellor had even requested that they not go easy on the girl. Grayson suspected that he would rather prefer if she failed. One less child to worry about. Isabeau, however, had a will of steel. And in the year of our lord 1824, women should really be able to do whatever a man did. At least that was the opinion of Grayson himself. That Isabeau was treated differently was in his mind never in doubt. He on the other hand tried to treat her as any young knight in training. Perhaps that was why she had abandoned her previous mentor and requested Grayson instead.

"Knives?" He asked when they had slung a rifle each over their shoulders. Isabeau did a quick once over, as he had taught her.  
"In place Sir knight."  
"Ammunition?"  
"I have fifteen bullets for the rifle, twenty for the handgun, you have the rest in your bag."  
The brand new repeating rifles that had been commissioned for the Knights had drastically changed the fighting style of the order. Previously they lugged heavy front loaders or muskets. Grayson was all in favor for the updated weaponry, although he had had the gun jam on him twice by now. On the other hand, no wet powder and no need to steady the gun on a friend's shoulder. New technologies were developing so fast, Grayson could barely keep up. Something that Isabeau was never shy of letting him know.  
"Gray?" Isabeau's question brought him back from his musings. He made sure the neck guard was firmly in place, straightened his gloves and looked toward the young woman. She nodded, and they set off into the decrepit building.

The door creaked, and dust fell from the jamb as they entered. "Looks like no one has been here for a while." Isabeau's voice was quiet.  
"There may be other ways in. We should be careful of that. Secure each room properly before moving to the next, and that's an order." Grayson let a little of the drill master enter his voice. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was only getting more insistent. They had missed something, something important.  
"I think we need to get lower, Gray. This place hasn't been disturbed for some time, and it's light up here, clear visibility."  
"I know, I was just thinking the same. Take the left, look for darker spaces. Signal if you find something."  
"You think we should split up?" Isabeau sounded a bit spooked. He couldn't blame her. "It'll be faster. Don't venture down any stairs and you'll be fine. See you back here in twenty."

While Isabeau headed off to the left, Galahad took the room closest to the right. The dust was still thick on the floor, and the papered and soaped windows let in a sickly yellow light that did little to brighten the gloom.

The building was big, and it took quite some time before Grayson found the first outward sign that something was wrong. In a corner in one of the old offices, a sticky stain near one of the bookshelves caught his eye. The stain was smeared across the floor, almost as if something had dragged across it. Unholstering his handgun, Grayson squatted next to the stain. It was a reddish brown, and it had the unmistakable smell of copper. Blood. Looking around, Grayson spotted the object that had scraped across the stain. One of the bookshelves had a buildup of blood at the base.

A quick inspection of the shelf made it obvious that it was hiding a hole in the wall. The back of the shelf was cold against his hand, and he could feel the air moving at the edge of it. His misgivings increased. This was not the work of one or two lycans. This took organization, planning. Normally, halfbreeds just stuck with a lair, made no modifications. But this? This was elaborate for the beasts.

When Grayson returned to the set meeting place, Isabeau was already there. She looked shaken. Pale and close to tears. "Isi, what is it? What did you find?"  
"There was a pile. There was a pile of bodies in one of the rooms. They were just thrown in there, as if they meant nothing, as if they were waste. Gray, is it always like this? This life?" Her eyes, bright with unshed tears looked to him and there wasn't much he could do. He pulled her in for a hug, feeling her arms snake around his back. He had intended it as comfort, but with her there, in his arms, he found it hard to let go. "We'll make sure they're buried well. That's all we can do for them."


	3. Something stirs

After a brief discussion, where both Isabeau and Grayson agreed that the entrance behind the bookshelf was the most promising, the knight-in-training and her mentor made their way back to the room with the bloodstains.  
"What do you think? Wounded or killed?" Isabeau's question wasn't unreasonable, but in Grayson's experience it took a lot to kill a halfbreed.  
"Wounded, most likely. They can lose quite a lot of blood before they die. Let's see if we can find the release for this door..." Grayson let his fingers run across the outer edges of the bookshelf, trying to find a hinge or a catch.   
"They're not all that sophisticated are they? Just try pushing it." Isabeau put a hand on Grayson's shoulder, and he took a step back. She wedged her fingers behind the back of the shelf and pulled. A weak click was heard, and the bookshelf started swinging out from the wall.

A foul gust of wind smelling of wet dog and putrid meat made both Grayson and Isabeau take a step back from the revealed opening. It was obvious that this had been an entrance to a cellar or a bottom floor. The entrance had been bricked up, but the bricks had been removed again, although in a shoddy fashion this time. Stairs led down into the compact darkness.   
"Can we risk a little light?" Grayson's question was more rhethorical than anything else.   
"To be honest, I think we have to. It's dark as the grave. That smell..." Isabeu wrinkled her nose and followed Grayson down the steps. He lit a chemical torch, another one of the newfangled inventions that were rather useful, if somewhat hard to get used to.

The stairs ended in a corridor leading further into the building. A gate blocked the way in, but it was easily overcome by some clever lockpicking on Isabeu's part. It was a skill she had taken to with ease to her brother Alastair's delight. He had her picking the lock of the Lord Chancellor's liquor cabinet, something both siblings had paid for, and not just in hangovers.

From here on, the traces of lycans became more prevalent. To Grayson's dismay there seemed to be a lot more halfbreeds here than reported. Not two or three, but maybe a dozen, perhaps more. 

He was just about to abort the mission when the first halfbreed attacked from a hidden side entrance. Grayson didn't have a chance. The lycan was on him in a flash and all he could do to not get his throat ripped open was to fling his arm up before the jaws of he beast connected. In the struggle, he dropped the lantern. It rolled aside, causing strange shadows to dance on the walls of the dank corridor.

The drooling jaws of the werewolf snapped at his arm again, and he could feel the cloth of his coat tear. The dog like creature was now on top of Grayson, pinning him down underneath it, making it nigh impossible to reach the weapons stowed on various places of his body. It didn't help that Grayson had been next to blinded by the chemical torch, the light of which had shone him straight in his eyes. As he struggled against the beast, he could hear Isabeau moving around in the corridor. A shot fired made the lycan yelp, but it wasn't releasing its hold on him. Something pushed at the werewolf from above, bringing the stinking jaws closer. He felt the grip of the jaws weakening, heard a mighty grunt above him, and then the lycan fell flat on top of him. It changed rapidly into a woman with heavy eyebrows and unkempt hair. 

Isabeau heaved the body of the young woman off Grayson. "Are you all right?" Isabeau picked up the lantern and the bag that had fallen to the side in the attack.  
"Yes, I'm fine. Good work Isi. Well done." He straightened his coat and took the bag from Isabeu. "Be careful. I think there are a lot more than two or three lycans in this nest. Someone's been feeding us false information."  
"But who would do that? And why would the Lord Chancellor believe them?"  
"It's useless to speculate at this point. We should be getting out of here. We're not equipped for a large scale operation. We have limited firepower and limited ammunition. I think we should return to Westminister. Send in a proper team."  
"Gray, do you really think I can't handle this?" she was angry. He could tell from the set of her shoulders.  
"It has nothing to do with your capabilities. It has everything to do with not walking in blind into what feels more and more like a trap. I think someone has set us up, Isi, and I want to know who and why. I won't risk our lives to find out however."  
"Would you do it if it was Alastair?" Her voice was quiet.   
"No. Perhaps Perceval, but he's got more experience than any other knight." Grayson was adjusting the bag and missed the expression flitting across Isabeau's face. Both relieved and something else. Something close to adoration.

The reprieve was short. Less than a minute after they had turned back in the direction from where they came, shuffling noises were heard, heading in their direction. "More than three", Grayson said while keeping an eye on the dark corridor, "stay close to me."


	4. Running with the lights off

As they hurried down the corridor, Isabeau suddenly stopped. Grayson was just about to ask her why when he heard it as well. Another set of footsteps, coming in the other direction. They were about to be trapped between at least two lycans.  
"Here, there was an opening..." Isabeau took the lead, heading back toward the interior of the building. Without a sound they both slipped into a small room with a boarded up door at the far end.  
"Let's see if we can get through this." Grayson started prying off the boards using his knife as a pry bar while Isabeau kept an eye on the door they had closed behind them.

The boards were rotted through and the nails keeping them in place had long since rusted, making it short work to get the door open. Another wide room opened up behind the doorway, smelling of mildew and old rot. Closing the door as well as they could behind them, they made their way deeper into the house. After a few tense moments when Grayson accidentally stepped on a creaky floor board, they found another door. The door opened up into a corridor lit by gaslights.  
"I think we're getting closer to the lair." Grayson was whispering.  
"Grayson, we need to get out of here."  
"I think we're underneath the center of the building. Where did you see the bodies?"  
"In the northwest corner of the house, I think. Why?  
"My guess is they dump the bodies there when they've finished with them. There should be an exit..."

A roar interrupted the whispered conversation. There were at least two halfbreeds approaching at speed. "Follow me!" Grayson was shouting as he brought the rifle up to his shoulder. Isabeau covered his back and his left side as they quickly made their way through the murky room towards a door at the opposite side. "This should get us to the northwest. Watch out!" One of the halfbreeds had almost reached them. Grayson fired his rifle twice and the werewolf fell. Isabeau shifted her revolver to her left hand and pulled the big hunting knife. Two swift stabs, under the ribs and up took care of the lycan. It transformed back into a human. A middle aged man with a slight paunch and balding head took the place of the mangy halfbreed. The second werewolf attacked Isabeau, but Grayson managed to divert the frothing jaws from connecting by swinging the bag at the halfbreed.

Although it saved Isabeau from getting mauled, the lycan took a hold of the bag and ripped it in two with strong teeth, made for killing. Grayson fired the rifle again, once, twice. And then the firing mechanism locked. Using words more suitable for a sailor, Grayson drew his pistol while Isabeau was frantically trying to avoid the werewolf that had pinned her with its paws. Before Grayson managed to fire, Isabeau's gun rang out, and yet another one of the werewolves were dead.

"We have to get out of here." Isabeau was pale in the low light. "I know. The door. Leave the bag." Grayson pulled her on her feet and they headed towards the door again. They could hear the scrabbling of paws on the floor, and Grayson was starting to think they may not make it out alive. 

The door concealed yet another, smaller room, with several openings. The knight and his knight-in-training managed to find the stairs to the first floor after only a short search. The stench from the corpses piled In this part of the building helped them find their way up.

When Grayson saw the amount of bodies strewn across the room, he understood why Isabeau had been so pale. He fought hard not to retch at the sight and smell of so many dead people. The pile of dead bodies also hammered home another insight - this nest was not small, nor was it entirely ungoverned. He was fairly certain that this hunt had been a trap.

Isabeau took point leading them out of the building. She knew her way back, since she had been here previously. Grayson was almost at a point where he thought they could make it out alive after all. That's when all hell broke loose.


	5. Ambush

The attack was unexpected. Not even Grayson saw the creature, whose matted, dark fur kept it hidden in the shadows of the rafters above them. All of a sudden it was just there, a blighted nightmare made of muscle, sinew and claws. It fell straight down on Isabeau, raking a long wound along her lower face and shoulder as it fell. She cried out at the sudden pain, but had the presence of mind to draw her knife and stick it in the armpit of the smelly halfbreed before falling down, overcome by the weight of the creature and by her wounds that were now bleeding profusely. 

When Grayson turned he saw Isabeau go down under a tangle of long limbs and bloodied claws. It was apparent that the creature had done some serious damage to his charge. It was equally apparent that the werewolf was damaged enough to slow it down. It stood there on all fours above her, wavering, growling and pulling at the knife wedged tightly between its ribs. Grayson cursed, and drawing his own blade he soon got a hold of a tuft of hair, wrenching the creature's head away from the wounded woman. 

A quick glance at Isabeau told him his charge was still alive, but the blood was unexpectedly bright, and there was a lot of it. He made short work of the weakly struggling halfbreed he held by the head. Blood spurted from the stinking neck as he drew his own knife swiftly across it. Following up with a vicious strike to the heart of the creature, he let it go and watched as it slowly turned back into a human. The cunning halfbreed was dead. He sheathed his own knife, then retrieved Isi's with some difficulty and hurried to the young woman.

She was lying on her side, wounded shoulder up, holding her hand against her neck. Blood was covering her fingers, leaking from her body at a pace that turned Grayson cold. In a knight this wound would be survivable. Isabeau was not yet one of them, and did not have the protection of the blackwater. Grayson opened his coat to find the standard issue first aid kit, supplemented by his own additions, and he thanked whatever deity that made him pack it despite the routine nature of this assignment. So far nothing had gone to plan. He sat down next to Isabeau, carefully lifted her fingers from her neck and was gratified to see that the wounds did not run deep enough to have nicked the artery. She was still possible to save, although she would most likely end up with some nasty scars. As Grayson started cleaning the blood away, she whimpered and held on to his coat. He swiftly placed the heavy compresses over the worst parts of the long slashes she had suffered. Tried not to think of the pain she was in as he worked. The slight nausea he felt at seeing her hurt was unexpected, something he hadn't felt in ages. An emotional connection that was not welcome but still there, still something he would have to deal with at some point. He put it out of his mind as best he could and soon had the wounds dressed as well as could be expected. Well enough to move Isabeau, in any case.  
"Isi, I need you to keep pressure, here" he took her hand and guided it to the same location she had clutched earlier. "Just hold the bandages down. You'll be alright. Everything will be fine, just hold on, love."  
"It hurts, Gray." She whispered as he got his arms around her and slowly hoisted her up to carry her out of this wretched place. 

He had barely made it more than a few feet when Isi's eyes grew large and she pointed to something behind him. Only his reflexes and Isabeau's early warning saved him from a swift beheading. Another halfbreed. Bigger than the one that ambushed Isabeau. Grayson released the wobbly young knight in training and turned around as fast as his body would let him. The lycan had retreated to the darker corners, and he had lost sight of it in the murky room.  
"Isi, will you be alright?" His eyes were already searching through the darkened area for movement. He heard her draw her pistol in answer. "Go on Gray. I'll be fine." 

His eyes scanned the room, ears sensitive to any sound, aware of Isi's labored breathing behind him. A low growl sounded to his right. He wasted no time thinking, drawing his pistol and knife, and faced the attacking creature head on. He managed to squeeze off two shots before the halfbreed was on him, claws outstretched and angry mouth seeking purchase around his neck. Grayson swore and tried to get the knife between him and the massive lycan now almost on top of him. In close combat, not even a trained knight like him stood a chance against the halfbreed's massive strength. "Shit!" His voice sounded panicked even to himself. And in the moment of staring down the jaws of a werewolf all he could think was "I can not let Isi die here". The jaws closed around his arm and he heard more than felt the bones snap.

A shot rang out that had the monster squealing in pain, tumbling to the side. Isabeau was pale with pain but obviously equal to the task of protecting her mentor. She kept the beast busy as Grayson fumbled at his neck for the little flask that would save both their lives. Drank deeply of the blackwater and felt the bones align and reattach. Isabeau's pistol was empty, and she was barely standing up as he got back on his feet.

Picking up his gun from where it had fallen, Grayson lost no time in firing at the now retreating halfbreed. A bullet caught the lycan between the shoulder blades, and the spray of blood told Grayson that the bullet had hit the heart of the werewolf. The lycan went down, hard. He wasted no time opening the artery in the neck of the monstrous creature, and then swiftly pushed his knife under the ribs and up to the heart. Movements that were second nature to him. 

Another execution made, Grayson returned to Isabeu, dirty and grimy. He wiped his hands on his coat before carefully looking her over. She was pale from blood loss and slightly shocky, but she was still alive. As long as she was breathing, he had a chance to save her. He lifted her up again and she placed her unhurt arm around his neck.  
"We have to get out of here. Whoever told the Lord Chancellor this was a small nest was wrong. This should have been handled by a troupe of Knights, not a knight in training and her mentor."  
"The others always tell me you're the best of them Grayson. Until tonight I thought it was all empty words." The slight slurring of her words had Grayson picking up the pace. She was more than a little shocked.  
"What made you change your mind?"  
"I never thought you'd be so practical when it comes to killing. I thought you'd be more ... squeamish."  
"Squeamish? Love, I'd hardly made it past the dark ages if I was sensitive."  
"Well, you look not a day over two hundred." A weak smile answered his grin.  
Isabeau's voice was worryingly shaky, but Grayson's swift steps soon had them outside the building, and in to the waiting carriage. He laid her down on the floor of the coach, took a minute to feel her now sweaty and somewhat clammy brow (tried not to let his hand linger on her cheek, failed, swore at himself. What was wrong with him?) and spread his coat over her to keep her warm.  
"It smells like you, Gray" Isabeau was murmuring into the neck of the heavy garment, drawing a deep breath and settling on the floor. 

The driver looked positively shocked to have them return, which didn't exactly calm the nerves. Grayson climbed up the steps to the drivers seat and gently nudged the terrified young man with his gun. "I'm assuming you didn't expect to see me again. I'm sorry to disappoint. If it weren't for the woman currently bleeding to death in the coach, I'd have your neck, but I find myself in need of a driver. Take us back to Westminister, and be quick about it. I might find it in my heart to forgive you." Grayson watched the other man closely, as he nodded, pale as a ghost. This was hardly the mastermind. Probably just some unfortunate soul brought to spy the outcome. Most likely expendable. Grayson got down again and went into the carriage. He signaled to the driver by thumping the roof twice, and the carriage set off. 

As they moved through the nightly abandoned streets of London, he turned his attention to his charge. The movements of the carriage had Isabeau moaning in pain. A particularly painful bump made him carefully lift her up and place her in his lap. Mindful of propriety and of her wounded state, he made sure his coat was well wrapped around her body. She was bleeding from the wound on the neck, the bandages were slowly getting soaked, but he had no remedies for her. He could only hold her, trying to keep her warm to stave off the worst of the shock. At some point she looked up at him, eyes heavily lidded and tired. "Galahad. I know. I know how you feel..." She kept her eyes on his. "How I feel about what, love?" He picked at some of the hair that had come loose and was now plastered to her face by sweat and dirt. "I know you care for me... And I do too... I love you too..." Grayson's hand stilled. Before he could reply to her, she had fallen into something like sleep. His mind was racing, disquiet replacing his worry for the young woman in his arms. Love? There was no place for love in his life.


	6. Infirmary revelations

Arriving at Westminister took less than the two hours it had taken for Isi and Grayson to travel to the building where the lycan lair had taken them by surprise, something Grayson was infinitely grateful for.

Jumping out of the carriage he shot a dirty look toward the driver cowering on the drivers seat. "You're not going anywhere", he growled as he carefully lifted Isabeau out of the cabin. "We have unfinished business." Not waiting for a reply, he took the stairs as quickly as he could without jolting Isabeau. Her wounds had closed, for which he was infinitely grateful, but she was still in danger. He entered the quiet house yelling at the top of his lungs. "Henrietta! Alastair! We have a man down! Henrietta! Promptly if you please! Alastair, it's Isi! Meet me at the infirmary!" Grayson didn't bother to find out if his shouts had woken them up or not. He had to get Isabeau to the little hospital on the grounds. Still hurrying, but as carefully as he could, he walked across the yard, shouting for Alastair and Henrietta to join him. Lights were being lit around him, but he only had eyes for the pale face of Isabeau and her continued breathing.

As he reached the infirmary, Henrietta came rushing past him and opened the doors to the little surgery. She had, true to form, smelt the blood in the air, taken one look at the pale arm hanging across Grayson's neck and deduced that the victim of misfortune had lost a lot of blood. "Put her here. How long ago?" Grayson ground his jaws as he placed Isabeau on the table with infinite care as not to jolt her. "Two, maybe two and a half hours. She stopped bleeding after half an hour, and I managed to keep it under pressure, but she was in a lot of pain by the time she passed out."   
"And the weapon?"  
Henrietta and Grayson shared a look, the first since Grayson had been caught up by her. "Lycan. Elder. Henry, there were at least ten of them. No place to bring a Knight-in-training. We were set up."  
"And you?" Henrietta started cutting up the cloth around Isabeau's neck, carefully, in order not to disturb the bandages that were almost glued to her skin.  
"Broken arm, a bite, some scratches. Nothing that was life threatening. She saved our lives Henry. She shot the bastard despite bleeding all over the place."  
"Yes, she's always had an extraordinary power of will. Help me get the jacket off. Lift her upper body. There we go..." By that point in time, Alastair and the Lord Chancellor were both hovering in the doorway, far too experienced to get in the way. "Lord Chancellor, good. She needs blood. Roll up your sleeve." 

Henrietta had put Grayson to work removing the rest of Isabeau's clothes around her wounded shoulder. Even he paled at the sight of the four deep grooves the half breed had managed to inflict on her.   
"Henry, she needs stitches."   
"Not now. The wounds have been opened for too long. We need to clean them. But she needs blood first. Have you been typed? How long since you took the Blackwater?"   
"I don't remember."   
"We'll have to risk it. Worst case she'll be inducted earlier than planned."  
Henrietta moved between Grayson, the Lord Chancellor and Isabeau with an efficiency bordering on the terrifying. She set the needle in the Lord Chancellor's arm and hooked it up to a glass bottle she had removed from a steaming hot cupboard. Feeling the glass to make sure it had cooled enough, she plunged the other end of the rubber tubing into the bottle. The blood started flowing immediately. Henrietta took a few moments to check on Isabeau while getting another bottle for Grayson and preparing him in a similar manner. Between Isabeau's ragged breath, the murmur of blood leaving the vein and Henrietta's ministrations, the surgery was quiet. Alastair had taken one look at his sister and turned in the door. By Grayson's calculations, he was probably gathering the council.

Henrietta took a look at the blood level in the bottles, unhooked the Lord Chancellor and sent him on his way. "We'll start with this, then we need to clean her up and stitch the wounds. After that I'll need to transfuse her directly from you Grayson. You'll have to stay the night in the infirmary. Might want to get cleaned up before then."  
"Anything, Henry. I'll do anything." Henrietta and Grayson shared a look, both equally surprised by Grayson's declaration. A wide smile was spreading across Henrietta's face. "Well I never! Get going Gray. I need you here to save this woman's life. Which suddenly became a lot more important!"   
Grayson rolled his eyes as Henrietta bandaged his arm. "Henry..."  
"No Gray. You're not talking your way out of this one. Isi's been eyeing you for ages, you know. I was wondering when you'd notice. Now shoo. Clean up, and quickly. Eat something, but be back here as soon as you can."

Freed from the needle and without Isabeau in his arms, Grayson remembered the cab driver he had left by the door. Taking a walk past the entrance confirmed that the driver was long gone. With a sigh he turned around, ran up the stairs to his lodgings and started to remove the bloodied clothes that had stiffened across his chest. Calling down to housekeeping he ordered a quick bath and a meal. While he undressed, a cavalcade of staff moved through his rooms, setting up a bath and removing the blood stained clothes.

By the time Grayson lowered his aching body into the bath, no more than ten minutes had passed. He ate while soaking, and spent another ten minutes vigorously scrubbing himself clean. By the time he stepped out of the bath the water was a pinkish gray, but Grayson felt infinitely better.

When he had made his way back to the infirmary, Henrietta had cleaned, stitched and dressed Isabeau's wounds, and the Lord Chancellors blood had literally run out. Grayson spent a few minutes in the door opening, looking at Isabeau. She was still pale, and against the white of the bandages she looked very young. Grayson could feel something tugging at his heart. So innocent. And almost killed because someone was determined to decimate the Knights. Henrietta, ever the observer, looked up from her notes. "How long have you been feeling this way about her?" Grayson looked down on his hands. "Until today, I didn't even know I was."


	7. Night in the Surgery

In the quiet of the little hospital, Grayson tried desperately to get a handle on the events of the last few hours. Henrietta had gone to sleep in a cot just outside the surgery. Grayson himself was drifting in and out of consciousness, in part due to the blood loss and in part because he had been awake for nearly 35 hours. Isabeau was breathing easy next to him, cheeks no longer deathly pale.

His eyes and mind kept returning to Isabeau. She was swathed in gauze, her face swollen above the sharp wounds caused by the lycan. Grayson found her to be near irresistible, and it terrified him on more than one level.

He had tried putting her out of his mind, tried concentrating on the bigger issue - who had it in for the Knights - but he couldn't stop thinking about his own unease, lack of concentration and sudden discomfort in Isabeau's company. Both Henry and Isi had seen it, his feelings for the girl. He felt like a dirty old man thinking about it, although experience should have taught him by now that for the Knights the concept of time and age was less vital than to many others. Perhaps when she'd had a few years as a knight under her belt... Grayson stopped in his own tracks. There was no place for lovers in his life. The events of the evening should have taught him that. He had to get rid of this unwise attraction before it crippled him, before it froze him at a critical juncture and killed either him or Isabeau.

He would do what it took to quench it. He would request a transfer, first thing in the morning, perhaps go to India. The colonies were always understaffed by Knights of the Order, perhaps because of the resistance put up by the natives. Decision made, Grayson turned his mind to the more pressing issue. Who had betrayed the Knights? And why had it worked? The orders had come to him from the Lord Chancellor, Alastair had confirmed it was a trusted source. Isabeau's brother had spent a few hours sitting by his sister's bedside. He had thanked Grayson over and over for keeping Isi alive. Grayson had told him all about the lair, and how they had managed to escape the claws of the lycans. Alastair had also promised to post a reward for anyone finding the young driver who had replaced Dougherty, although Grayson doubted that "Jonathan Strong" was really his name.

There were so many perplexing elements to the situation that had brought him and his protege to this point that Grayson had a hard time seeing the bigger picture. He missed his notebook and his quill, tied up as he was by the rubber tubing running from his arm to Isabeau's. 

A while later, Henry poked her head through the door, and seeing Grayson awake started to unhook him from the contraption she had set up between him and Isi.   
"Take a sip", she said as she pulled the needle from Isabeu's arm. "You've given enough to turn your lips blue."   
"Henry, were you there? When the tip-off about the lair came in? Do you know of anyone apart from the Lord Chancellor who was?"  
"Have a drink, and we can discuss it", Henry's voice was impatient, but her eyes twinkled. Grayson did as instructed, the blackwater taking only minutes to restore him from his anemia. "Henry..." , he prompted, and following as Henry silently moved out of the room where Isabeau was resting.   
"No. Far as I know, the note was dropped off anonymously."  
"Note? There was a note?" Grayson could feel his temper rising. He and Isabeau, risking their lives for something as precarious as a note. He had a good mind to wake Alastair and give him a piece of his mind, but Henrietta's gentle hand on his arm stopped him. "Rest. This can wait until tomorrow. Get some sleep Sir Galahad." 

Grayson breathed out, more a sigh than anything else. "I suppose you're right. You've always possessed a sharp mind, dear Lady Igraine. I'll see you and your patient on the morrow."


	8. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A really short chapter. Life has been overwhelming lately. I've moved to Canada and have gotten a job at my favorite games company, so there's been a bit of stuff to handle. Grayson will however find out who is behind the conspiracy, there will be kisses, death and disaster alike.

Grayson rose as the early morning sunshine broke through his windows. He had had very little sleep, his rest uneasy and fitful. In part he was worried about Isabeau, but he was equally concerned about the anonymous tip that had led to trap he and Isabeau had found themselves in. 

The thought that someone had it out for him, or worse, for Isabeau, was much too much to take. With his thoughts on these matters, Grayson was hardly a paragon of sartorial style at the order's breakfast table. With a few words to Alastair and the Lord Chancellor he was rushing through breakfast as he had rushed through sleep. After securing a meeting with the two men, he set off to the infirmary once more, to check up on his ward. A bleary eyed Henrietta met him in the doorway.  
"You can't go in, dear Grayson", she said. "I'm afraid there has been some complications. She's got a high fever, and her throat is swollen. I'm thinking an infection from the creature's claws." Henrietta put a hand on his cheek just as he was about to protest. "My dear friend, there's nothing you can do. She'll make it, or she won't. None of it will be because of your pacing back and forth in my infirmary. Right now she needs her rest. Come back later this evening. I'll be sure to have more news then. Good or bad."

While Henrietta had been talking, Grayson stole a glance at the young patient. Her face was pale and sweaty, the skin next to the bandages red and blotchy. Isabeau was sleeping, but not in a restful manner. "Alright, Henry. I trust you. But you must tell me if she's getting worse. I need to be here if she.. If..." Grayson's voice broke at the thought of Isabeu's death. A common deception to watch for as a mentor. The thought that no knight-in-training would ever die before they were inducted in the Order. A common and erroneous deception. "Don't worry Gray. I'll let you know as soon as I know." Henrietta gave him another pat on the cheek and returned to the infirmary, leaving Grayson behind to prepare for his meeting with the Lord Chancellor and Alastair.


	9. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. I'm fine, I've moved across the world, I'm working a lot, but it's Easter, so a short addition was appropriate. More intrigue is on its way. Also kisses.

Around eleven in the morning, Grayson sat down with the Lord Chancellor and Alastair to discuss the events that still threatened the life of Isabeau D'Argyll, sister, daughter and friend of the three men present.

Grayson pulled no punches in describing what had met them at the abandoned building. A full scale halfbreed nest, complete with an elder. A challenge they had been completely unprepared for. His voice wavered as he spoke of the attack. When it came to describing the violence Isabeau had met with, he had to get on his feet, cover his shaking hands by pouring a brandy for himself. There was something even worse about reliving the moments after they had happened. The adrenaline that had fueled him during the attack was absent. He wasn't sure Isabeau would make it, despite getting her out of the immediate danger they had been in.

While he spoke, the Lord Chancellor hummed and hawed, a common reaction for the old man when he was emotionally invested in a subject. Grayson could see what a toll the retelling of the attack took on the old man, but Grayson wouldn't let compassion cloud his words. It was important that the severe nature of the Order's miscalculation stood clear to them. Perhaps to himself as well.

Alastair, being the tactical genius that he was, spent some time questioning Grayson about the layout of the lair, trying to understand how the ambush had been made possible. When he had the situation clear to himself, he got up and poured himself a drink. He stood there, pale and drawn, by the drinks table. Alastair emptied his glass in one pull, coughed after having swallowed the strong liquor, and turned to Grayson.

"For the life of me, I have no idea how you're both still alive. The trap was set with care from what you're telling me. I can only be grateful that you both got out alive. And the coach driver was in on it, you say?"

"As far as I could determine, yes. But he wasn't a major player. I think he remained behind just to report on us. If we survived. Right now I'm bloody grateful that he did. Isabeu would have died for sure if he hadn't."

"Alastair", said the Lord Chancellor with a dry and old voice, "how did the tip reach us? Who told us about the lair?"

Alastair ran a hand through his hair, put the glass down on the table and refilled it. He sighed deeply and went back to sit in the stuffed chair next to his father. "It's the damnedest thing. I don't know. It was in the books and signed off by Perceval. It looked perfectly legitimate." He took a sip of his drink. "When I asked Perceval this morning, he had no memory of entering the tip."

Grayson leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "So in other words, someone has access to our books, and can reliably forge the signature of one of our most senior Knights? But why? And how did they know that it would be me and Isabeau that would get the assignment? Or was it aimed at someone else? Alastair, how did you determine who to send?" 

Alastair got up again and started pacing the room. "It was standard procedure. You've been asking to take Isabeau into the field for quite some time. Someone suggested that this would be an easy mission so I assigned..."

"Who?! Who suggested it?!" Grayson got up and put a hand on Alastair's shoulder. His face was flaming red with anger and the need for revenge. 

"That's the thing Grayson," Alastair said with a soft voice. "I don't remember."

Just as Grayson was about to yell his disappointment at Alastair, a soft knock on the door interrupted him. Henrietta poked her head around the door and looked at Grayson. "Gray. She's awake, and she's asking for you."


	10. Interlude II

Alastair was first out the door, despite Henrietta's assurances that Grayson was actually the man Isabeau wanted to see. Somehow that made Grayson nervous. Put him in a situation where death was a possible outcome, and he'd still feel secure. He knew how to handle death. Emotions on the other hand... 

Walking slowly towards the infirmary, he saw Henrietta sitting slumped on one of the benches outside. She looked very tired, her hands running though her thick , dark hair and her eyes red. He sat down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. 

"You should get som rest Henry. You've been up all night, and I'm sure you have at least one apprentice capable of watching Isi?" He rubbed his hand across her back as she leaned into his shoulder and rested her head by his neck.  
"How come we never..." Her voice was uncertain and a bit rough, as if she had been crying.  
"Never what, love?"  
"How come we never got together Grayson?" She sighed deeply as she spoke. Grayson wasn't sure what to answer. Truth be told, he had never thought of Henrietta as someone who could be more than a friend. She was his best mate, someone he could talk to.  
"I'm not sure Henry. Life? Circumstances? Our friendship?" He didn't have a good answer, except one that might hurt them both. That he simply didn't feel that way for his best friend. They sat for a while, leaning on each other, both of them exhausted from the previous night.  
Their rest was interrupted by Alastair, coming to look for Grayson.  
"She asks for you Gray. Father is with her now, but I think she has something she wants to tell you. She seemed a bit anxious when I left."  
Turning to Henrietta, he said "And you are going to bed. Chancellor's orders. My father wanted to thank you personally for saving his daughter, but I persuaded him to at least wait until tomorrow. You've had enough excitement for one day. Tullock is handling the infirmary, and you should get some sleep." When his words weren't immediately acted on, he pulled Henrietta to her feet and started walking the very tired woman towards her rooms. Grayson was left sitting on the bench feeling wretched and completely unprepared for whatever Isabeu wanted to tell him.

With a deep sigh he heaved himself to his feet, somehow even more tired now, in light of Henrietta's question. Or perhaps it was just the adrenaline and the shock wearing off, finally. Running a hand through his hair he bit the bullet and went to see Isabeu.


	11. Blood and gold

Grayson took a deep breath, straightened his coat and ran a hand through his hair. He was oddly nervous, tired and worried, all at the same time, a state he had started to recognize was very much due to Isabeau. At least the worried and nervous part. Tired was more or less standard for a Knight of the Order post battle. Another deep breath had him pushing the door to the infirmary open. As he entered, the Lord Chancellor was just rising from his seat next to his adopted daughter. He stroked her hair carefully.  
"Promise me, Isabeu. No more heroics until you have been properly inducted."  
"Well", she answered in a voice much weaker than normal, "I can only promise that I'll try."  
"I suppose that will have to do. I will return later this evening." He turned to Grayson and gave him an appraising look. "And you, sir Knight, I will thank you properly later. Isabeu told me of the battle. I can only hope she was exaggerating." The Lord Chancellor sighed. "It seems we have both a traitor and an unexpected nest of lycans to deal with. Best get to work."  
Grayson remained standing until both Tullock and the Lord Chancellor were out the door. Only when Isabeau whispered "Come, sit." did he wake from the stupor that had taken hold. 

As Grayson sat down next to Isabeu, she took his hand and started playing with his fingers. For a moment everything felt like it used to, before the confounded feelings had made their entrance into whatever relationship the two had had previously. Friends, he thought while she ran her fingers across his calloused hands. But now? What had she said? That she knew he loved her. And that she loved him. All of a sudden the eye contact became too much and he had to look away. Desperate for something to do with his eyes and hands he started taking stock of her wounds. The skin he could see underneath the white bandages was red and inflamed from the damage. He carefully lifted the blanket that covered her injured shoulder, aware that the shirt she wore had been cut open by Henrietta in her ministrations. Careful not to expose her, he opened the shirt by her neck. A thick bandage covered the wounds that were now stitched together and no longer bleeding.

Isabeau was very pale beneath the linen that stretched across her shoulder. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, flecks of blood still staining the golden brown strands. In a fit of pique at Tullock who hadn't cleaned her up, and still unable to meet her eyes, Grayson got up again and started pumping some water into a basin. He brought the vessel to Isabeu's side and started to carefully clean her hair from blood and gore. 

As he worked, Isabeu kept watching him, blue eyes glued to his face, and he could almost hear the questions she wanted to ask of him. She was mercifully quiet, though, only wincing slightly as he lifted her head to gather the hair at her neck, still soaked in blood and her fever sweat. When he was done and her hair as clean as it could be under the circumstances, she whispered, still with her eyes locked to his face "The pillow is wet, Gray. Could you please get a dry one? I'm cold."  
"Yes. Yes of course, love." Head spinning from the warmth that inexplicably bloomed in his stomach at Isi's words, he started to clean up the mess he had made and after some deliberation decided that it would be easier to move Isabeau herself to the empty bed. He suggested it and she agreed that it would probably be for the best. "You'll have to carry me, I can barely sit in my condition."  
With the utmost care, Grayson put his arm around Isabeau's shoulders and started to sit her upright. She was grimacing in pain by the time he had her legs in his other arm, and once he lifted her, she was all but crying out. 

Two swift steps and she was down on the dry bed. Grayson carefully lowered her back down to the pillows. As he was about to move his arm, she stopped him. Her hand held his shoulder in place and he had to look into her eyes again.

The heat Grayson had felt was multiplied a thousand times over. Her face was so close to his, her lips pale and inviting. Leaning down over the bed, Grayson carefully fitted his lips to Isi's. He could smell her, the coppery tang of blood that still clung to her hair, the faint cedar from her bed clothes and the lavender soap she liked so much. At the slight pressure of lips against lips, Isabeau let out a sound of longing and regret, and, thought Grayson, pain. The fire in his belly turned into a roaring volcano as she carefully opened her mouth to his and touched the tip of her tongue to his tongue. It was so careful, so exquisite and tender that he never wanted it to stop.

Breathing in through his nose he wanted to capture everything in this moment. Isabeau's hand was snaking around his neck, toying with his hair. When he made to break the kiss and move away, she grabbed on to his collar. With a soft mumble, a sigh, she set Grayson's blood on fire. Despite himself, he lifted her from the pillow, and no sooner was the moment over. Isabeau's whimper was a whimper of pain and this time he couldn't ignore it.

"I'm so sorry Isi, I don't know what came over me", he said and freed his arms. Still refusing to look her in the eyes, he turned abruptly and exited the infirmary, Isabeau's voice in his ears. "Grayson come back. Grayson, we need to talk!"


	12. The Rooftops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took such time to get back to this. I promise, I will finish it.

Rain had started falling by the time Grayson slowed down. He was up among the rooftops of London, a place that gave him solace and calm, especially at times when he felt upset or in turmoil. Turmoil was the word of the day. He had no idea what had possessed him to kiss Isabeau. Except he did know and the knowledge of how he felt about her had turned everything on its head. He was terrified, and in the middle of all that terror was elation that she seemed to feel the same way, wanted him as much as he wanted her, perhaps even more so.

Grayson thought of all the times they had sparred, of her comments that he now realized were veiled flirtations, wildly inappropriate from trainee to mentor. How could he have been so utterly blind? Most likely because he had wanted to be blind, oblivious to his feelings, ignorant of hers.

The rain was beating down on his shoulders, slicking his hair to his skull, freezing him inside and out. There was no solace to be found on the rooftops, not today. Besides he had a traitor and a would be murderer to find. Someone wanted Isabeu dead, and he'd be damned before he let that happen. Grayson tried to tell himself that it wasn't because of his newfound feelings for Isabeu, but he realized he was only lying to himself. The blinders had come off, and no matter how hard he struggled to put them back on they would no longer fit. It didn't really matter how he felt though. The relationship between him and Isabeu was not something he could allow himself, regardless of his feelings. He wasn't sure that Isabeu would be as easy to convince. He stood for long time in the rain before heading back. He tried letting the freezing water wash away his attachment, but in the end all it managed to do was to imprint on him how much he cared for his young mentee, and how important her survival had become to him. Standing on the rooftops he vowed that he would catch the person responsible for their misfortunes, and that he would do it before they had reached their goal of sabotaging the Knights.

First order of business as he returned to the ground was to call for a bath. The rain had chilled him right to the bone and he needed some time to think, still, before facing the world and Isabeu. Warm baths were his only vice, and as far as vices went fairly harmless. He also called for tea, and when the knock at the door came, he went to open it expecting a servant with a tray. Instead there was Henry, wringing her hands and looking worried.  
"Henry! Come in. What's amiss?"   
Henry took a look at his drenched appearance and wrinkled her nose.  
"Have you been roaming the rooftops again Grayson? Did you find what you were looking for?" Henrietta pushed past him into Grayson's rooms and sat herself down on the love seat in front of the crackling fire. Grayson went to get a towel, discarding his heavy coat as he went.  
"I was looking for peace, and that's a commodity rarely found at the roof of London."  
"And yet."  
"Yes, and yet."  
Henrietta's voice was slightly wavering as she spoke. "Alastair and the Lord Chancellor want to talk to you. Isabeu's been most insistent that I find you. What happened?" Grayson came out of the bathroom, shirt exchanged for a bathrobe and a towel tucked around his neck. He could feel Henry's eyes following him.  
"I... I lost my composure for a little while. I'll apologize at first opportunity. Henry..."  
"What?"  
"I kissed her." Henry's eyes went wide at Grayson's admission. "It wasn't intended. I never meant to besmirch her honor. I had to take some time to think."  
"Well... that explains a lot."  
Another knock was heard at the door, this time it was servants with tea and bath water. Henry excused herself, and Grayson sank down into the hot water after having rushed everyone out. He still needed time to think, bit one bath would have to be the limit before he went to see Isabeau and biting the bullet, telling her that he relationship they had would have to stay that of a mentor and his mentee.


End file.
